


Am I The Asshole...

by doreah



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Established Relationship, F/F, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Canon, pseudo-fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28353951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doreah/pseuds/doreah
Summary: AITA for abandoning my girlfriend on top of a mountain?I know this sounds bad but hear me out on this one. It wasn't even a big mountain.June and Serena go for a hike, sort of.
Relationships: June Osborne | Offred/Serena Joy Waterford
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	Am I The Asshole...

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw [this reddit entry](https://www.reddit.com/r/AmItheAsshole/comments/ixjdxj/aita_for_abandoning_my_girlfriend_on_top_of_a/) as I'm sure everyone has, and forgive me, I just thought about Serena/June crack!fic. It really has zero other purpose than a simple way to pass the time over lockdown holidays, to force myself back into writing which is not coming easily (or at all) anymore. No plot, no character study, just words. 
> 
> There's nothing else to know other than it's post-Gilead, somehow, somewhere.

_**_______** _

“June!”

The screeching caw of an angry blonde giant echoes off the bare rock-face to June’s left. She keeps walking, one foot ahead of the other on the precarious stony ground. At this rate, she’d better not slip and sprain an ankle, or else Serena likely will have every intention of allowing her to die at the top of this godforsaken mountain.

“ _June!_ ”

The shriek has driven itself up by at least sixty decibels, and there’s a particularly ominous tone to it. A quiet rage bubbling just under the surface, but a definite air of indignation blanketing it all. It brings back a well-buried memory: the same voice but a different name and an identical cadence. She thinks of deep winter, a solitary black wolf, and the pungent smell of childbirth. Nothing about it is comforting in the least, especially the way it crawls up her spine, digging and chewing at the tense muscles of her neck.

June pretends she has come down with sudden onset deafness and trudges on ahead. The air is cooler now, a little damp, and the rocky ground under her feet is becoming slick with mud and condensation. The green and grey mosses are dewy and bright despite the ever-darkening skies. Any moment it seems as if the clouds will crack open, spilling their grief-stricken guts all over the mountainside.

Maybe, if she’s lucky, the torrents will wash Serena away with them. God never granted her that sort of reprieve before so why would He harness the elements in her favour now? 

This was a mistake.

A monumental one.

And she knew it was a mistake the second Serena insisted that she’d accompany June this morning, brusquely and spontaneously. It’s not as if her girlfriend isn’t physically fit, or enthusiastic about hiking, or isn’t anything that she should be. In fact, June’s quite certain that Serena could possibly hike up and down six mountains in the time it takes her to manage one. She simply and pathologically seems to have an addiction to complaining, merely to make June’s life unbearable, for the sheer malevolent sport of it. Why should leaving Gilead have changed that dynamic at all?

Only June would have been so stupid to believe that could have shifted outside a totalitarian regime.

The dampness of the air leaks past her thin windbreaker, not as chilling as Serena’s voice, but it snaps at her heels just the same. Around her, the air smells cold, vegetative and still. Leaves decomposing. Grass wilting. Nothing is entirely real. What she wouldn’t give to skid to a halt, reach into her backpack, and pull out that thermos of hot green tea she knows is waiting there. But, of course, that would involve coming face to face with her mountaineering nemesis. And sharing her tea because obviously Serena didn’t think ahead that far, which would immediately become June’s problem and June’s fault. How can someone who carefully crafted an entire misogynistically fascist society fail to think about how chilly a mountain hike in December would be?

Maybe it’s childish, but she doesn’t want to fucking share her tea with somebody who hasn't done anything except needlessly bitch at her all goddamn morning.

Out of nothing except indignant curiosity, June glances behind her, subtly. Serena is slowly picking her way across the slippery stones, a petulant scowl on her face, her brow deeply furrowed and absolutely silent. Perfect: she’s graduated from obnoxious to sulking. This is only slightly less bearable than her previous incarnation, because the thing is, when Serena sulks, she makes sure the entire planet is aware of her displeasure. It would be a stretch to call anything she does in such a mood passive-aggressive so much as outright aggressive.

The best part at the moment however is that she actually considers this a punishment for June. In truth, June would rather have nothing more than a quiet—if unhappy—girlfriend so she can hear the muffled bird songs in the distance and the drip drop of dew off tall rock faces. The crunch under her feet and her own breathing is comfort and company enough.

It sucks.

The whole day has sucked and despite the new silent plodding along, it’s miserable. The wet is miserable, the threatening clouds are miserable, the chill seeping through her jacket is miserable, her girlfriend is miserable. So much for a relaxing holiday hike. Alone. She really should have insisted on leaving Serena at home except it’s hard when it is almost Christmas and the obnoxious woman looked at her in _that_ particular way. It wasn’t sultry, nor was it pleading, but it was _something_ that June has never been able to place. Each time it has happened, it wrecks her, ripping her right down the middle until everything inside her feels boneless and tired. 

What the fuck…

She slips for a moment on a moss-covered rock, nearly stumbling over in her carelessness. This is still a horrible idea and the further up the mountain she goes, the worse it becomes. Going back down isn’t going to be much better, except for the promise of a warm car in the bottom parking lot.

Of course. Of course it starts snowing. That is just perfect. It’s hardly unexpected in winter, despite how abnormally warm it has been so far. Why wouldn’t it snow on a mountain?

It seems to be a sign from God.

June stops abruptly, looks around at the misty vista and the darkening clouds on the horizon, and then regards her girlfriend sluggishly trudging along about 50 feet behind. Glancing back towards the peak of this moderately easy hill, she wonders how long it would take and whether it’s truly worth the effort. Thanks to her long legs, Serena is catching up, which is bound to be more irritating when she comes within complaining distance. So, with a sigh, June turns, marching too confidently for such a precarious path, towards Serena. Instead of stopping—instead of saying anything at all—she passes her, heading down the hillside without a word.

It’s not worth it.

Maybe Serena will continue—because she is simply that sort of insufferably stubborn person. Maybe she’ll slip and fall and crack her skull open all over these pretty rocks, and nobody will find her body for days. For some reason, perhaps because she isn’t actually a psychopath, June doesn’t take much joy in that prospect even if two minutes ago she had been gruesomely imagining it. 

She refuses to look back as she clambers down towards the sanctuary of the parking lot, yanking her thermos from its nest in her backpack's sidepocket. The snow begins to fall a little heavier, sticking to her thin jacket and getting lost in her hair. She chugs another mouthful of tea that is cooling more and more rapidly as time passes. There is a soggy feeling in her boots, despite the fact they are considered waterproof. It’s a shame that these days, even in countries like this, it’s still too much to ask for companies not to blatantly misrepresent their products. Fuck, these cost over a hundred dollars and they’re basically useless. Luckily, as well as a thermos of tea, June always carries an extra pair of socks everywhere, as has since those old days when her mother would take her on daylong hikes around the Boylston area.

There’s a moderately flat rock, not quite dry but sheltered enough for her to sit for a moment. Lethargically and with great resistance to the feeling of such damp air on her feet, she strips off the wet socks and slips into warm dry ones, wiggling her toes in comfort. Of course, putting them back into her boots is going to ruin it all over again, but it’s a small treat for a few minutes anyway. Reluctantly, she laces them up, waiting for the inevitable chill to crawl through them. At least it should only be another 20 minutes at most back to the car.

With a long sigh, she sips her tea one last time but before she has a chance to stand, there is the sound of stomping feet coming too close. It takes everything in her willpower not to groan out loud at who is most definitely encroaching on her peace and quiet. 

Serena looms over her, casting a heavy shadow, yet actually working as a pretty effective windbreaker. For a little while the falling snow ceases its relentless whipping around her. 

“Tea?” June asks, smugly as if she didn’t just abandon her girlfriend on a mountain to potentially fall over the edge and die. It’s not like it’s a big one or challenging so, quite frankly, it’s unlikely Serena would have had any problem at all. Probably. Hopefully, really.

“Were you seriously just going to leave?” Any possible softness June could have expected never materializes and her offer of lukewarm dregs of tea is ignored. So, she shrugs. _Yes, I was, you asshole_ , June wants to say but holds her tongue. 

She screws the cap back on, meeting Serena’s hardened stare after a while. “Clearly.”

“I can’t believe you.”

That’s pretty rich. There are a lot of things June still can’t believe, the biggest of which is why she continues to put up with this attitude, this behaviour, this utterly unbearable woman. The sex is fine—okay, fucking amazing, but that alone shouldn’t be a reason. When they get along, it’s like a perfectly choreographed dance, except those instances are as rare as a blue moon, and always complemented with that underlying feeling of dread that eventually it will pass. And it always does. The problem is that those moments, as fleeting as they feel, are what makes everything else in June's life bearable. All the nightmares, the anxiety, the fears, the trauma, the pain and readjustment, the grief, they all pale next to the ghoulish yet rare connection they've made.

Now, Serena’s cheeks are red, her hair clumping where it peeks out from under her beanie, wet with the snow coming down. June knows merely by the look of her that if she was to get close enough at this moment, Serena’s nose would be running based on how many times she’s unconsciously sniffled in the last 30 seconds. For a brief second, her breath catches in her chest when she stares up at the mildly dishevelled mess. Instead of saying anything at all, she waits quietly for her girlfriend to either move on or sit down, and it doesn’t really matter which it is.

They often seem to read each other’s minds, and Serena groans out in muffled displeasure as she lowers herself down on the cold stone next to June. 

It’s not until that moment that June realises how cold she actually is. The windbreaker, while great for early autumn hikes, is painfully inadequate for mid-December on a windy hillside. The wet snow has soaked it through and the damp chill is settling a little too deeply into her skin for comfort. _Stupid, stupid_ , she repeats in her head. One more thing for Serena to lord over her. Despite every attempt to withhold it, she can’t suppress the shudder that wracks her frame. 

As they’re sitting so close, it’s impossible for Serena not to feel it too. With an irritated sigh, she glances over. When June refuses to meet the stare, she begins shuffling around. 

“Take that off.” The words are snapped short but there’s something underneath the command. Something that actually manages to cut June’s snarky reply off before it completely forms in her mouth. Without waiting for acquiescence, Serena’s hands are already all over, tugging at the finicky zipper on June’s jacket, and yanking on her sleeves.

It seems like a particularly risky place to have sex, or whatever is on Serena’s deranged mind right now. So cold, so wet, so hard. In the worst ways possible. 

“What, no foreplay?” June snickers in annoyance, mostly to herself, as she shakes free of a damp coat sleeve. 

Just for a moment, Serena freezes, regards June with a startling mixture of displeasure and amusement, and rolls her eyes. “Shut up, June.” She places the wet coat over her lap and slips out of her own, then her incredibly large and fluffy grey hoodie. 

God, it looks _divine_ , June realises. Such warmth. Such preparedness. Her woolly socks are no match for that. Are they actually going to fuck? It’s very un-Serena-like but it’s also not as if they haven’t leaned heavily on the physical side of things in order to slap Band-Aids on every imaginable problem. A temporary distraction for whatever exhausting tête-à-têtes they lock horns over. 

There’s a long consideration on Serena’s part as her gaze slides over June’s torso, the snug waffle thermal that has kept her warm enough on similar excursions. Something lingers in her eyes, like wanting but her lips remain sealed and her expression neutral. It would be absolutely batshit for Serena to feel any sort of arousal right now, but then, it’s not as if any part of Gilead should have inspired that either.

“Hurry,” she growls out and hands June the coveted hoodie. The snow is fluffy and lighter now, but still just as cold and Serena pulls her own winter coat back on without her extra layer. “Put that on.”

It takes absolutely everything in her power not to close her eyes and inhale deeply as the warm sweater is pulled over her head because it smells like Serena: a light combination of coconut, laundry detergent, and musk. Immediately, the heat seems to sink in again and it’s a brief moment of bliss in an otherwise shitty day. There is very little June loathes as much as how such simple actions can make her feel so good, so safe. As she pulls back on her damp coat over top of the massive sweater, she realises she must look like that Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters. 

The click of a lighter snaps her attention over to Serena who is inhaling deeply on a cigarette. Leave it to her to hike a mountain, smoking. 

“I feel ridiculous,” June states, trying to sound ungrateful on purpose, lest Serena get the wrong idea that she’s done something kind. She presses down on the stuffing.

Briefly, Serena pulls on her cigarette again, thinking, her eyes flashing. “Well, if it helps,” she begins in a carefully measured tone. “You also _look_ ridiculous.” 

There isn’t even the hint of humour in her voice, but the way she looks away, into the distance as she exhales slowly is enough for June. Her lips press together in a small smirk as she reaches for Serena’s smoke. There’s no resistance and Serena’s face turns towards her, watching silently as June takes a long drag, dangling the cigarette between her lips like a pro. She doesn’t let it go. 

Almost reluctantly, Serena stretches and stands up, waiting for June to join her who is taking another long pull as the end glows bright orange. She takes her time, needling into Serena’s obvious impatience. It’s not that she wants to be an asshole exactly, but after so long she sort of feels like it’s sort of deserved after so many years of pettiness and petulance being her only avenue to attack. As always, Serena plays it cool (until she’s not) and acts like it’s nothing. They both know exactly how much she despises being kept waiting.

June remembers a few months back, in her bed with Serena under her, as she teased and toyed with the hot flesh at her fingertips. The lunge of Serena’s hips chasing friction, the tight grip of her greedy hands, the sharp dig of her nails down June’s shoulders, those pathetic little moans when she didn’t get what she wanted exactly when she wanted it. June had laughed, almost by accident at that, and the resulting scowl only added to her enjoyment until she slid her fingers down, into the heat and wet and Serena had made some feral animal sound, so unfamiliar and dripping with such euphoric relief, as if she’d never felt pleasure in her life until that precise moment in time. It was a simple lesson: despite her outward annoyance at being kept waiting, Serena Joy Waterford turned to a supple putty under her lips and hands if teased in precisely the right way. She had come so fucking hard after that, and even now, the memory sticks to June’s senses like warm toffee.

It’s a bit different being naked in a warm, dry bed than it is on a freezing mountainside as it snows, but June wonders exactly how far she can press her luck today. It’s already been too long and too tense. Stubbing the rest of the cigarette against the rock, she also stands and picks up her backpack. Only part of that sloth is on purpose since she is slightly encumbered by the thick layers of cotton stuffed tightly under her damp windbreaker. She pulls the hood up over her wet hair, slowly following the trail Serena is blazing ahead.

They exchange no more words, and in fact, it seems to barely register to Serena that June is even following; she's the abandoned one this time. The snow is falling thicker and starting to stick to the ground at last. Not a lot, just the hint, just enough to make it even more slippery than the trek up. Perhaps, she’ll lose her footing and go tumbling down the hill, and it’ll be like those Looney Tunes cartoons where she turns into a giant snowball and plows Serena down as well. That would be a sight to see.

Before gravity has a chance to enact any sort of karmic (and comic) retribution, the yellow sign for the parking lot catches her eye. Not long now before they’re hunkered down in the car, again in damp, uncomfortable silence. The nightmare of this day won’t truly be over until they’re both naked and sweating it out, forcing the resentment out into sloppy, hard kisses, gnashing teeth, and stifled groans instead of dealing with it in a remotely healthy way. But nothing about her and Serena has ever been done the conventional way so it seems an odd time to consider changing that now.

It’s not until they are bickering over who gets to drive home that June realises it’s the most they’ve said to each other all day and most of it has been about various driving techniques in snowstorms, who has the best record, and which is the most direct route back to the apartment. Serena wins, as always because she is the most relentless, most often. The lack of shame or anything resembling empathy must have something to do with that particular talent.

The sudden quiet as they sit in the car feels oddly sterile. Then Serena twists the key in the ignition and the vehicle rumbles to life. It doesn’t help much, so June flicks the stereo on to one of the only radio stations they even can receive. It’s some classical thing, exactly what Serena enjoys. Of course. It’s amazing how even that can work out in her favour.

“Take off your coat.”

Again, it’s fascinating how everything Serena says comes out as a demand instead of a suggestion. She’s fiddling with the heater as the car slowly hums to itself, warming up at an incredibly gradual pace. It’s not even that cold out but the car has seen better years. A long time ago, probably. Without waiting, Serena reaches over and pushes down her hood, pulls at the neck until June has wriggled free enough. The jacket ends up in the backseat with Hannah’s books and Nichole’s toys. Stripping free of her own coat as the car warms, it too is added to the pile of junk back there and momentarily, June is struck by the casual sort of beauty that emanates off the woman beside her, so effortlessly. 

Her raglan top is tight against every curve, visible now in the absence of the large hoodie that June is cocooned in instead. Her hair is loose and a bit wet, and her cheeks still flushed red form the cold outside. It’s exactly the wrong time to be considering anything even close to where her brain—or perhaps other parts of her anatomy—is heading. 

Outside, the snow is still falling and June wonders how much of a cliche it would be to listen to some Christmas carols instead. If she could for once get her phone to connect to the ancient car’s Bluetooth, that is. Reaching down to the cupholder between them, Serena pulls up her own thermos that she’d left in the car. Not so ill-prepared perhaps.

The aromatic notes of coffee and chocolate waft over her and her mouth waters without permission. Again, falling short of normal politeness, Serena pours the mocha into the thermos cup and takes a sip first. The steam is going to fog up the inside of the car windows if they’re not careful but before June can comment, the cup is thrust into her chilled hands instead. 

“It’s not too scalding anymore,” Serena states, idly, seeming distracted by her own thoughts as she fusses again with the windshield wipers and defrost settings. She was simply testing the temperature. 

A light flush rises to June’s cheeks at the necessity of that. Two weeks previously, June had made a certain embarrassing display of burning her tongue on coffee at the fancy new cafe around the corner from their apartment. And it hadn’t been the first time. Serena has a memory like an elephant, which is generally a detriment although occasionally, when it comes to taking care, it could be seen as a perk.

Despite her persistent inability to take responsibility for any aspect of Gilead then or now, there’s a particular sense of natural obligation Serena has towards those she cares about. It was obvious with Nichole, and June had seen it even with Fred when he was in that bombing. June doesn’t really like to think about her time in Gilead in any sort of detail (because her nightmares take care of that well enough), but she does remember coming back to the Waterfords after the hospital, and the way Serena doted and lingered, playing nursemaid, friend, and wife all in one. She always had appreciated clear delineations of expectation and roles. At the time, June had considered it more of the type of behaviour of a curator or scientist taking care of an object or experiment of specific value, rather than another human being with inherent worth. There had been no true kindness.

Maybe.

“Why did you come with me today?” It’s an honest question that has really been at the root of everything.

The radio DJ’s deep and calming timbre vibrates through the silence of the car, announcing the change of the hour and the upcoming programming. Christmas songs. Serena raises the thermos to her lips, sipping carefully and letting the question cling to the otherwise empty sound.

She throws a glance behind June and nods. “You wore a cheap windbreaker in December.” It all sounds very matter-of-fact, and June ignores the underlying edge there, that protective yet condescending streak of Serena’s. And then she turns back to staring at her coffee as if that is a perfectly acceptable explanation for her contemptible mood all morning.

“I wore…” June repeats in a long drawl before deciding to let it go. It’s not worth the argument. 

She nudges June’s hand. “Here.” There is more coffee added to the small cup.

For a long moment, June can’t do much other than stare at the steaming drink, the wisps of heat becoming visible. “Thanks.” 

Familiar notes of the Coventry Carol begin to tinkle out from the speakers as they both sip the coffee in silence. It’s cozier than maybe it should be with the heat blasting the damp chill out of their bones, and the frequent quiet when any other couple may be chatting away with any number of inane topics that keep them from recognising the lack of actual substance. A lot of those people however aren’t experiencing their first holiday season free from a suffocating theocracy that banned any such expression. Both she and Serena are awkwardly adjusting to the type of freedom that seems quite unmanageable now at times, turning on each other instead. It just seems easiest that way, in a familiar way that reeks of an impenetrable and unshakeable Gileadean influence.

And then there are moments like this, when the world is soft and quiet, when they’re alone with nothing except each other, and the freedom doesn’t feel like such an inevitable curse.

Maybe this was never about hiking or coffee or inadequate windbreakers.

“I’m glad you didn’t fall down the mountain and die,” June mutters to her mug. It’s not exactly an apology for the shitty behaviour or the gory fantasies, although maybe it also sort of is.

Serena’s lips quirk for the first time in the last three hours. “Likewise.” She places the thermos in the cupholder and reaches for June’s free hand. “But I would rather be at home making pancakes, to be frank.”

Their fingers lace together and Serena’s are so warm and tight. It means so much more than the words they’re saying, merely spending time like this. “I know,” she sighs. With a final squeeze, June pulls back and cradles her cup again. “With blueberries _and_ chocolate chips?”

“No,” Serena snorts. “Choose _one_.”

She’s lying. June knows from previous experience that Serena will put anything she asks for in the batter, no matter how sloppy the end product ends up being. They’ve done it numerous times for the girls. “Well, you know, I can help you with it if it’s too difficult to manage.”

Serena’s eyes narrow, steeling for a second before latching onto June’s cheeky gaze immediately. She chews for a moment on her bottom lip and it sends butterflies careening around June’s stomach as it spreads into a smug smile. “Over my dead body.”

The snow is falling thick and heavy now, and the slopes are bound to be treacherous. Those paths they'd already slipped on will be dangerously icy now. With a scoff, June nods towards the mountain trail again, grinning. 

“Wanna try that hike again?”


End file.
